


an uptight clean freak until a single shot

by thefungiboy



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, COD Zombies - Freeform, Call of Duty Zombies - Freeform, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Language, OCD Tak?, TaNi - Freeform, TakNik, maybe. who knows., nothing crazy at all tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 17:50:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15645861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefungiboy/pseuds/thefungiboy
Summary: tak and nik story. ive had this in storage for months but never posted. essentially, tak hates dirt, him and nik talk, and then get drunk.





	an uptight clean freak until a single shot

**Author's Note:**

> lmk if i should write more! maybe ill write some smut for it. who knows. just maybe.

He hated dirty surroundings, and it was a terrible thing to be cursed with a adamant disliking like that especially in the world they lived him. With no cleaning supplies and minimal water rations in general, Takeo was filthy, uniform and skin. And he fucking hated it. Rightfully so. I mean, the feeling of dirt under your nails and dried blood from who knows what on your face can only get so old. The once clean and pompous man often found himself trying his best to tidy up anything in his belonging as a act of making up for his own lack in hygiene. This usually called for a careful inspection of his prized sword, or the routine rag being ran over the numerous pins on his blood and dirt soaked uniform. Either way, it was something that calmed him.

But this didn’t go well when the only people you were with in this hell of a world are arguing.

The loud and strained voices filled the echoey theater. And it was a show nobody wanted to see or hear, starring Tank Dempsey and Edward Richtofen. Who knew what they were on about today. Takeo did pride himself on his english, but sometimes Dempsey and Richtofen together spoke to fast for him to understand. He only could pick up a few words at a time, other than rampant slurs, of course.

Nonetheless, the captain dipped his head down, ignoring the rabid yet loose argument. He ran his dirty rag over the blade of his Katana, a cherished family heirloom. Takeo’s fingers turned the sword and examined the wrapping, the blade, the tip, and then the icy blue eyes staring at him. They belonged to the non-arguing comrade, who sat himself against one of the broken seats of the German theater.

There was a moment between Takeo Masaki and Nikolai Belinski as the Japanese man caught the Russians eyes with his own. Just staring, just quiet, just....relaxed? Was that a word to use? This wasn’t new for either of them, in these moments where there was no gunfire, no reanimated dead, no anything totally chaotic, they often found themselves meeting eyes. 

“Come here.” The Russian bluntly ordered, and received nothing other than a small scoff from Masaki, tearing his brown eyes away. 

“Don’t talk to me as if I am an animal. What do you need?”

“I want to see that fancy stupid sword of yours.”

They met eyes again. Takeo was annoyed now. His praised heirloom was not stupid. 

“You can not touch it. “

“Oh, shut up, I know. I just want to look with you.”

And with that, Masaki raised himself up from the cold ground and sauntered his way over to the man. And with That, Nikolai couldn’t help but admire the mans frame, crossing his arms and raising a eyebrow gently. He watches Takeo sit and display the sword before him, a noise of interest coming from Belinskis throat. “It is...fancy.” He stated, earning a small proud smile from the smaller man in front of him. “I never had anything like that in war. I only had my gun and scope and that’s how I killed. That’s how everyone did it. But you, you don’t know much about guns.”

“Is that supposed to be insulting? I cannot disagree with you. I do not know much about guns.” 

Nikolai let out a laugh, shaking his head and gripping his rifle in his calloused palms. “Not a insult, Takeo. It is called an observation. Nikolai isn’t as dumb as you think.” Then Nikolai winked and Takeo had to suppress some confused reaction to it. Whether it be a grimace or smile, his face was its usual appearance of bland and stoic. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Nikolai watching Takeos small hands run his cloth over the blade, his eyes focusing on the others face, which was downwards, the brown eyes watching his own hands run over the blade again. Again. And again. Until Nikolai spoke. 

“I think you got it, Takeo.”

“What?”

“Whatever you were cleaning, there is nothing to clean.” 

“It is filthy.”

Nikolai pondered this for a moment. The blade was the cleanest thing in this entire theater, and Takeo was stressing about it. He took a drink of his bottle, feeling the usual favored Taste of vodka burning his throat. Belinski then did the unusual, offering the smaller man the bottle, stopping him in the tracks. 

“What?” Masaki asked.

“Take a drink.”

“You’re offering me it?”

“Not the whole bottle, idiot. Nikolai is feeling generous, now take the bottle.” And Takeo did. And he raised it to his lips and took a sip. His face scrunched, he wasn’t one for hard liquor. But he swallowed it and Looked at the man before him, who was patting the spot next to him. “Come sit with me, Takeo.” And Takeo did.

The day started to fall apart, the arguing ceased hours ago, and the stars of the theater went off to their own corners to sulk, leaving Nikolai Belinski and a now drunk Takeo Masaki. Nikolai had never seen the stoic captain so loose and being honest, this was a sight he liked. Takeo was laughing and so much more handsy and jokey. And now, here he was, practically on top of the Russian, his lips melted into a large smile, they were telling stories of a better time.

“Ohh— I wanted to be a pilot!” Takeo drunkenly sneered, laughing his ass off. “But I was to old when the war started and— the Emperor himself didn’t want me fighting. I was just that honorable to him.” Nikolai often heard about the Emperor and Takeos relentless praising toward the man who didn’t seem that interesting. What a life, to sit on your ass all day. But Nikolai knew whatever open behavior he had Takeo stringed on would be cut if he spoke about the Emperor like that. 

“So I ended up just doing more personal affairs for the Emperor, if I wasn’t on a boat. I am a captain, you know—“ Nikolai smiled a bit as Takeo smiled. He knew Takeo didn’t know how to drive a fucking boat.

The Asian sniffles and adjusts himself against the Russian more, just listening to Nikolai’s breathing. They sat In silence for a few moments and Takeo yawned, sitting up and fumbling with the now empty bottle. 

“Where do you sleep?” He asked. 

Nikolai looked up.

“Huh?”

“Where do you sleep?” Takeo asked again, standing and stumbling as he bent to collect his hat and tunic jacket, smiling and looking up at the bigger man, now scratching his stubble.

“Ehh. Why? You have your own bed, and I snore and there isn’t room for two beds and—“

Takeo laughs and looked at the man, rocking on his heels still in a drunk manner. “I was planning to sleep with you, idiot.” He once again bent in front of the other to pick up another discarded item of his belonging, and positioned himself just a bit angled so Nikolai could see his rear. Nikolai sure saw it. Masaki stood again.

“I’ve been cold and lonely at night. It gets boring, all by yourself. You would know, right, Nikki?” There was a seductive tone tagging along with his words. “Besides, I’m drunk and I want to have fun. Where do you sleep?” 

They stared at each other and Nikolai couldn’t help but play with the bottle that Takeo left behind. “The dressing room. You’ll see it.” Nikolai whispered, as if to hide the predicaments of their secret meeting from the others, who were god knows where. Takeo bent himself over in front of him and gripped the Soviet’s scarf, gently yet quickly pressing his lips to the others. Then standing back.

“In there in five minutes. I’ll be waiting for you.” Takeo smiled and rolled his head a bit, gripping his filthy clothes and sauntering off to walk up the stage, leaving the other man sitting alone, with the taste of alcohol fresh on his lips, but this time, a foreign taste of alcohol. Not his own.


End file.
